Baby Dreams

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dear Reader

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Copyright

Dear Reader,

It’s the CELEBRATION 1000 moment you’ve all been waiting for, the publication of Silhouette Desire #1000! As promised, it’s a very special MAN OF THE MONTH by Diana Palmer called Man of Ice. Diana was one of the very first Silhouette Desire writers, and her many wonderful contributions to the line have made her one of our most beloved authors. This story is sure to make its way to your shelf of “keepers.”

But that’s not all! Don’t miss Baby Dreams, the first book in a wonderful new series, THE BABY SHOWER, by Raye Morgan. Award-winning author Jennifer Greene also starts a new miniseries, THE STANFORD SISTERS, with the delightful The Unwilling Bride. For something a little different, take a peek at Joan Elliott Pickart’s Apache Dream Bride. And the fun keeps on coming with Judith McWilliams’s Instant Husband, the latest in THE WEDDING NIGHT series. Our Debut Author promotion introduces you to Amanda Kramer, author of the charmingly sexy Baby Bonus.

And you’ll be excited to know that there’s more CELEBRATION 1000 next month, as the party continues with six more scintillating love stories, including The Accidental Bodyguard, a MAN OF THE MONTH from Ann Major.

Silhouette Desire—the passion continues! Enjoy!

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to: Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Baby Dreams

Raye Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RAYE MORGAN

favors settings in the West, which is where she has spent most of her life. She admits to a penchant for Western heroes, believing that whether he’s a rugged outdoorsman or a smooth city sophisticate, he tends to have a streak of wildness that the romantic heroine can’t resist taming. She’s been married to one of those Western men for twenty years and is busy raising four more in her Southern California home.

Dear Reader,

What an anniversary! One thousand Silhouette Desire novels. One thousand red books, packed full of love, laughter and touching moments. Do you have them all? I have a friend who does—all those red books in a row on a special set of shelves her husband built for her in her bedroom closet. Any time she wants, she can pick one out and recall the surprises, the sudden laughs out loud, the tears, the sighs.

That’s what romance is all about—emotions. Who doesn’t like to think about what it feels like to fall in love—to see that special guy for the first time…the thrill the first time he touches you…the first time he kisses you…In real life you usually only get to fall in love once. Between the covers of those red books, you could have done it one thousand times! And I get to go even further—I get to write them (well, not all thousand).

Thank you for reading them. Thank you for loving them. This anniversary is for all of us to celebrate. Happy birthday, Silhouette Desire!

Love to you all,

Prologue

The Invitation

“Reginald, my darling, don’t you understand? I’m about to have…I mean, I’m…oh dear, it’s just that…don’t you see? Can’t you tell?”

“Margaret, my precious one, you’re not…I say, you can’t mean…that is, you’re not saying that you…”

“Yes! Oh, my love, it’s true! We’ll need a new wing on the old mansion.”

“Oh, my dearest. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world. At last, our love will be complete.”

“Yes, Reginald. At last. At long, long, last.”

The music in the soundtrack swelled with triumph and joy as “The End” swept across the screen, and Cami Bishop reached for another handkerchief at the same time she switched off the TV with the remote. She sniffed as she dabbed at her eyes. Looking around the nest she’d made for herself while watching the old movie, she noticed there were far too many used tissues littering the couch. Even for a rainy Saturday, this was a bit too much.

Listening to the early spring rain on the roof while sitting around in her pajamas and sobbing over happy endings was a guilty pleasure she only indulged in on days like this. There was just something about people falling in love and having babies that sent her into orbit.

“Maybe,” she noted dryly to herself, “that’s because it seems more and more like fantasy, something that could never happen to me.”

Once, it had seemed a sure thing. She’d wasted years on a relationship that had evaporated when she’d finally tried to pin it down. Now she felt like someone running for a bus that was picking up speed and pulling away.

But self-pity wasn’t her style, and she brushed away maudlin thoughts, pulling back her thick, curling blond hair and shoving a band around it, keeping it out of her eyes while she steeled herself to fight off the wave of weariness that seemed to be tugging at her senses.

The sound of her mail delivery hitting the floor of her entryway brought a quick surge of relief. At last, something to think about besides the babies that she would probably never have.

Jumping up, she padded to the door in her panda bear slippers and bent to retrieve the stack of magazines and envelopes.

“A bill from the phone company, a bill from the department store, a magazine on organic gardening, a flyer from my dentist…”

And then, a pink envelope with no return address, but heavily scented with a familiar smell. What was that? Baby powder? She held the envelope for a moment, feeling the texture of the linen paper in her hand. Then, holding it up to her hall light to see the shape of the card inside, she reveled in anticipation.

What could it be? An announcement of some sort? An invitation?

Her heart was beating just a little faster than it had a moment before. This was going to be something good. She could feel it. This was going to change her life.

“Yes!” she said under her breath. “Whatever it is, yes!”

Quickly she grabbed her letter opener and made a slit along the top of the envelope. The card that fell out was shaped like a cunning duck, wearing a tiny pink satin bow at his throat and holding a frilly umbrella. “A Baby Shower” the caption read. “We’re excited, ‘cuz you’re definitely invited!”

Cami’s heart fell, along with her shoulders. “No,” she groaned, closing her eyes for a moment. “Not another baby shower.”

Was everyone in the country having babies except for her?

Flipping open the card, she braced herself. “Come help welcome a new little person,” the card read. Her gaze slipped down to the handwritten note at the bottom of the page. “You’ll notice there’s no phone number for an RSVP. That’s because you will be here. Excuses are not an option. Cami, I’m dying to see you. Eight years is too long.”

Sara Parker. Her college roommate. Despite everything, a smile curled Cami’s wide, generous mouth. Turning to her desk, she rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a framed picture of four young women smiling at the camera, their faces full of hope.

Sara and Hailey and J.J…and Cami herself. So young. The Fab Four, they’d called themselves. It seemed like yesterday, and yet…so much had happened since then. That youthful optimism was hard to muster up lately.

And now Sara was going to be the first of their group to have a baby. Cami couldn’t help but feel a twinge at that news. Back in the old days, Cami had been the one who had been full of dreams of romance and making a family. The others had laughed at her. They’d all had other goals—careers, travel, adventure. Hailey was going to study art in Paris. J.J. planned a career in journalism. Sara was going to take over her father’s business—and then she was going to marry someone with the potential for real glory—maybe even the future president—they’d all said so. Smart and elegant, she’d make the perfect First Lady. And now, here she was having a baby shower.

Cami looked down at her wrinkled pajamas and her panda bear slippers and sighed. It wasn’t that she was a failure. After all, she was busy publishing and editing a successful specialty magazine, and doing a darn good job of it, if she did say so herself. Still, there was no longer a man in her life—hadn’t been for ages.

“Maybe there never will be,” she whispered, looking about at her lonely home. No husband. No babies. She was thirty. Was this it? Had she missed her chance? Would there never be a Reginald in her life?

“Oh, grow up!” she told herself disgustedly. “There is no Reginald, you dreamer. Face reality. Life and romance just don’t mix, not in the real world.”

There. That settled it. She needed one of these little pep talks every now and then. But at the same time, she was happy for her friend—her best friend. And full of resolve.

Yes, she would go to the baby shower. She was only human, and it wouldn’t be easy, seeing Sara’s happiness when she felt so left out. But she would do it. She had to.

The address on the card told her Sara was still living in Denver. She would drive there, she decided quickly. And suddenly she was filled with excitement. To see Sara again, and to maybe even see her new baby—that was going to be special. She could hardly wait.

Now what was she going to wear? Panda slippers were out. If she was going to portray an image of success and competence, she would need a new wardrobe. Gee, what a shame!

One

The snow was going to get bad. There was no way around it. It was fixing to storm. By midnight, the roads would be impassable. If he wanted to take one last run up the mountain, he’d best get to it.

Rafe Lonewolf strapped on his holster and put his service revolver in place, then shrugged into his heavy down jacket, pushed his hat onto his head and stepped out into the icy wind, heading for his blue-and-white unit.

A silver sedan was passing. It slowed to a stop and the window rolled down.

“Hey, good-lookin’,” called out the pretty young woman in the driver’s seat. A ruff of fur framed her face, just showing a hint of the long, black braid that was coiled at the crown of her head. Slanted dark eyes gave her an exotic look. “Want to come over for some hot coffee before you go?”

“No thanks, Sally,” he called, pausing and rocking back on his heels to nod to her. “I’m just going to make a run up to the ridge to make sure the Santos place is locked up for the night. I’ve only got one more hour on duty. Then I’m going to turn in.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him playfully. “Then come on over after you get back. It’s going to be a cold night. You’re going to need something to warm you up.” Her mischievous eyes sparkled, telling him she had more than coffee in mind.

He paused, kicking the heel of his cowboy boot against the curb, then sauntered to the car and looked down at her. “Sally, honey,” he said ruefully, giving her a slow, wry grin. “Give it up. What do you want with an old man like me, anyway?”

“You’re not an old man,” she said, looking slightly horrified.

His mouth twisted. “I’m charging hard toward forty, and you know it. You can’t be more than nineteen. You’ve got every young buck in the county crazy about you. Choose one of them.”

She pouted prettily. “Sometimes a girl hankers for a man with experience,” she told him, her gaze still flirtatious. “Sometimes those guys just seem so young.”

He laughed. “Pick a young one, Sally. He’s liable to be more trainable. This old experienced male is a little too fargone for you.”

She shrugged, still hopeful, and bit her lip teasingly. “Maybe you just need something special to recharge your batteries.”

He laughed again, drawing back. “No, I’d have to have a complete overhaul to deal with a bright young thing like you. Face it, Sally. I’m just an old bachelor, too set in my ways to change.”

Sally sighed and shook her head, still smiling. “I’m just talking about one evening, Sheriff. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Not yet, anyway. But he only thought that, didn’t say it aloud. It was his experience that women always came around to the marriage thing, no matter how much they protested along the way—almost as though it were something implanted in their blood, something they couldn’t help—any more than he could help his aversion to it.

“Sam says you’ve got a tragic love affair in your past,” she said, not ready to give up at all. “Is he right?”

He wasn’t prepared for that, and whenever anyone blindsided him with the subject, it always took a second or two to steady himself. For a fraction of time, a picture of Janie flashed into his mind. It was more than a picture, really. There was the scent of gunpowder, the sting as one of the bullets crashed deep into the muscle of his thigh, the sound of Janie’s soft cry, the red haze of blood that spattered as she fell. And then he closed it off again. He always did. He never thought about Janie in front of people. He saved that for when he was alone.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing that romantic.” Grinning, he gave her car a slap. “Get on home. A storm’s coming up.”

She gave him one last smile, full of regret, and took off toward her house. Rafe chuckled as he walked on over and got into his car. There was no way he would ever touch that girl, but he had to admit, her little crush on him was good for the old ego.

The tires crunched on the new-fallen snow, and he knew when he got up a little higher, the precipitation was really going to get thick. Good thing he still had on his snow tires. This late in the season, he hadn’t expected another storm before the full spring thaw. But even snow tires were not going to take him all the way to the Santos place if he didn’t hurry.

Turning up toward the mountain, he traveled quickly on a road that hadn’t seen many cars that day. Three years in this area and he still wasn’t used to it—the peace—the wonderful peace. It was the ultimate contrast to the rest of his life. Down in Los Angeles, he’d been a cop in a department under siege—the gang fights, the drive-by shootings, the hatred, the resentments.

There was no hatred up here in Clear Creek. Not that things were perfect. But here, people dealt with each other one-on-one, with some understanding, some willingness to compromise. No one was staking out territory. It was a brand-new world for him, a world he had grown to love. Sure, compared to L.A., it was boring. And that was the way he liked it.

His car climbed high on the winding mountain road and he checked out the Santos place, securing locks on the gates, then started back down, anticipating his bed. Just as he came to the crossroads, something caught his eye—a light, high up on the old forest road.

“Damn,” he breathed, watching it as it moved. Someone was up there, and that road was closed. It looked as if he weren’t going to make it home as quickly as he’d thought. In fact, he might just be looking at a very long night.

Turning his car back up, he headed toward the gatecrasher, and his mood was less than cheery.

She was lost. It had to be near midnight and the snow was getting worse. And she was lost.

This was crazy. She was crazy. Who expected snow this close to spring? But why had she taken that shortcut, anyway? Here she was in the mountains of New Mexico, looking for angles, just like always.

And getting in trouble because of it. That was just like always, too.

What on earth was she doing out here in the wilderness, anyway? She was a city girl, born and bred. She knew all there was to know about navigating the freeways and alleyways of Southern California. She knew very little about icy mountain roads.

She hadn’t seen another car for an hour. For all she knew, she’d driven right out of civilization and into the twilight zone. She let out a small shriek as the car skidded and came to rest turned broadside. Her pulse was beating like a drum as she straightened out her car. Was she going to have to pull over and wait for morning?

Her heart lurched as lights appeared in her rearview mirror. Another human being! Hallelujah.

But then a red light began to flash behind her. The cops. She groaned, half laughing. Every bit of good news had bad news tacked onto it tonight. If he was going to give her a ticket out here in the middle of nowhere…

She pulled over and turned off her engine, sighing, then watched in her mirror as he slowly got out of the police car behind her, holding on to his hat as a vicious gust of wind tried to take it. He looked big and grouchy. Just her luck.

“Hello, Officer,” she said brightly, rolling down her window as he approached the driver’s side of the car. She winced as snowflakes hit her nose with a sting. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see a friendly face. Where am I, anyway?”

Ignoring the question, his dark eyes made a quick inventory of the interior of her car. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, all business.

She hesitated. On this road? Absolutely nowhere. “To a baby shower in Denver,” she said aloud. “Am I going the wrong way?”

Something about the set of his chin told her she wasn’t going to get an answer to that question.

“May I see your license, please?” he intoned evenly.

She swallowed. Not a ticket, on top of everything else. “What was I doing?” she asked, putting off the inevitable.

His dark face didn’t respond in kind to her friendly smile, but he did tell her what he thought. “Driving like an idiot,” he noted calmly.

Her smile became a little more strained. “Have they got a special number in the vehicle code for that now?”

His bland look darkened into a frown. Obviously he wasn’t in the mood for light repartee. “Let me see your license, please,” he repeated, his voice just a shade more steely.

“Okay.” She sighed, resigned. “My license.” She reached onto the floor beside her seat where she always kept her purse. Her hand didn’t contact anything familiar. “Just a second.” She reached under the seat, then looked behind it. A tiny flare of panic began to lick at her throat. Where the heck was her purse?

“Wait a minute. I can’t find my purse,” she said.

“Interesting,” he murmured dryly.

She glanced at him, caught by something in his tone. “No, really, I have it. It’s here somewhere.”

But she still couldn’t find it. Oh, brother. Now what? She thought back quickly. She’d made a stop about three miles ago when the snow had begun to blind her. She’d taken out her map to see if she was on the right road, then had gone back to the trunk to see if there were any chains hiding there. At one point, she’d thought she sensed something falling out into the swirling snow, but when she’d looked she hadn’t seen it again. Now she knew—it must have been her purse falling out of the car.

She gasped. “Oh, my God. I must have knocked it out along the road back about three miles,” she told him. Twisting, she looked at the darkened road and had a quick flashback to a child’s fairy tale, complete with witches and goblins hiding in the shapes of trees. “I…I’ll have to run back and take a look.”

His face didn’t change. “No,” he said firmly.

She blinked at his impassive look. She wasn’t used to this kind of unsympathetic opposition. It did tend to put her back up.

“What do you mean, no? My purse is back there. Someone might pick it up. All my money and my credit cards are in there.”

The cynical glint in his dark eyes deepened. “Listen, lady,” he said evenly. “Don’t bother to try a con on me. I’ve heard them all.”

A con? She almost smiled. She was the last person to try to con anyone. Most of her friends thought she was much too open and forthright as it was. But she kind of liked being thought of as a latent con artist. Still, this was the police. She probably ought to take him seriously.

“Well, I can’t prove who I am,” she told him brightly, pushing back her thick, curly hair with a casual motion that came to her naturally…and often. “But I can tell you, and you’re just going to have to take my word for it. Cami Bishop, from Marina Del Rey, California.”

His mouth twisted. He’d obviously noted her pushing back her hair and thought it an affectation that might even border on flirting. The set of his mouth told her he didn’t succumb to flirting. “A swinging California single, no doubt,” he said, almost sneering.

She squinted, trying to see him better. In the dark, with his hat pulled down low, all she could really make out was a hard mouth cut like a slash in granite and a pair of dark eyes that were colder than the icy wind that was making periodic raids on their position. She hesitated. Something about this man could give a girl chills.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she said, then tried one last grin. “But basically, yes.” And even at that, she couldn’t get a smile out of him. Oh well. “Anyway, I’m on my way to this baby shower…”

“Hold it.” Cocking his hat back, he stared at her for a long moment, then drew away from her window abruptly, as though he’d just thought of something, something that startled him.

“What?” She blinked at him, surprised.

“Just hold on.” he told her sternly, “I’ll get back to you.”

Rolling up her window to keep the snow out, she lifted her gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him walk to his patrol car, stamping his boots to clear a path. Why did these guys always seem to swagger? She supposed it was meant to make peons like her stay in line. Too bad. Lines and boundaries had never been her forte.